


What Remains After the Storm

by HaniTrash



Series: Stucky Fistposting Friday Fics [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Longing, M/M, Stucky Fistposting (Defrost) 2019, Stucky Fistposting Fic Challenge, stucky fistposting friday fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 01:15:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19121623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaniTrash/pseuds/HaniTrash
Summary: What could have happened after Winter Soldier if Bucky *hadn't* left the US?“Bucky,” Steve says, and it’s hardly more than a whisper, as if he’s afraid to say more.“Most days that’s who I am. The longer I’m out of their custody the more my memory comes back. Whatever they were doing to my brain doesn’t seem to be permanent, which I guess is good. Except I’m remembering everything, Stevie. Things before the war. During the war. After I fell...all my missions.” He lifts his eyes to look at Steve, and there’s pain there, pain and anger and...longing? He’s not sure. But Steve looks like he desperately wants to say or do something, probably hug him.“Don’t come looking for me, alright? I got some stuff to do.”





	What Remains After the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> First entry into the Stucky Fistposting Friday Fic collection! 
> 
> the theme for this week was LONGING. I hope you enjoy! Make sure you check out the other works in the collection too! We'll be continuously adding to this each week with a new theme. :)

  
  


“So finish it then. Because I’m with you ’til the end of the line,” the target says.

The Asset pauses, and he doesn’t know why, but he can feel the horror rising in him, hear the screams of a long-forgotten memory echoing in the recesses of his brain. The helicarrier shifts as it rips apart and the target falls and the Asset holds on and watches him, with a sense that this is wrong, all wrong, he’s the one who fell, not the other way around... 

He lets go and falls with the target, goes after him, because he has to  _ save  _ him, he can’t let him die, he’s the target but it’s  _ wrong _ ...

They emerge from the water, and he’s dragging him now, up onto the bank, and the Asset stares down at him, down at Steve,  _ his Steve _ , and none of this makes sense, he doesn’t know how he knows this man, doesn’t know what to do, wants to stay, but needs to run and hide because he doesn’t want to go back, can’t go back...

He’s watching from the rooftop, looking into the hospital room, and Steve is awake, he’s almost healed...

Steve is at a cemetery meeting other people. They look familiar, especially the woman, she triggers a recent memory, of fighting on the streets, fighting with Steve, but something else deeper flutters, just out of reach, he can’t pull it to the surface...

Steve is at his apartment, and it feels familiar, like he’s been here before, and then he remembers shooting through the windows and a rooftop fight—why are he and Steve always fighting? That feels wrong, too...

The Asset goes to the museum, to the Captain America display, and there he is, that’s his picture, that’s him, but he didn’t die, did he, because he’s here, and so is Steve...

He tries to leave. Knows he should. Knows it’s not safe for him to stay, the longer he does the greater his risk of being caught is...but he can’t leave Steve. It’s the only thing that makes sense to him right now, though he doesn’t know why. He just needs to be near Steve.

He sees Steve rushing out of the apartment to the roof, where a jet is landing, and he jumps in, and they take off in a hurry. Must be Official Hero Business, he’ll be gone for a bit most likely then, and Bucky—he tries to think of himself as Bucky, most of the time he even believes it—sees his opportunity to explore Steve’s apartment.

There are pages and maps scattered across every possible surface, tracking the past, the history, the destruction that Bucky has wrought throughout time while Steve slept.

Images flash behind his eyes, bursts of gunfire, sprays of blood, plumes of smoke. Snow. Frost. Machines. Doctors. A chair. He stumbles, senses overloaded, falls to the floor in Steve’s living room, barely missing landing on the coffee table.

Bucky sits there for a while, waiting for the mental dust to settle, staring off at nothing. Eventually he comes back to himself, and like the other times this has happened in the past weeks, he’s more himself, more  _ Bucky _ , and less the Asset than he was when he walked into the room.

Under the edge of the couch, he sees the spine of a journal sticking out. Opening it, he immediately recognizes Steve’s handwriting, his artwork.  _ October, 1943  _ is written at the top of a page near the end, and beneath that is a drawing of Bucky lying on the table where they’d first started experimenting on him.  _ I saved Bucky. I finally was able to save him, after all the times he’d saved me. Except it didn’t matter in the end, did it? They still got their hands on him. I’ll never be able to forgive myself for not returning to the ravine and searching for him. How much of our lives could have been different? _

Bucky feels a tear slip down his cheek and is startled by the sensation. The Asset did not cry. He did not have emotions. Bucky has many  _ feelings _ and he’s not entirely sure how to handle any of them after not having any for so long. He stares at the page, zoning out again as more memories wash over him.

Outside, a storm is raging. Bucky has stayed far longer than he should have, the sky has gone dark and he can barely see inside. He makes to stand as a particularly close lightning strike hits, followed only a fraction of a second later by thunder, but freezes when a wide shaft of light spills in from the front door as it opens. A light comes on in the hallway, and Bucky sees the moment that Steve, shield in hand, notices him sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch. They hold eye contact for a moment before Steve raises a hand, one finger pressed to his lips in a  _ shush _ -ing motion.

Bucky nods, once, and Steve sets his shield down as he closes the door. Slowly, he comes into the room and reaches for the stereo, turning the volume up on some swing music he’s got in there. Every move is slow, deliberate, telegraphed for Bucky’s sake—it’s smart, Steve has finally learned something over all these years, and he’s taking care to not scare Bucky. He can’t know, yet, that Bucky won’t hurt him. Not for sure.

Steve sits on floor as well, across from him, out of reach but close enough to speak softly and not be heard.

“You couldn’t have known, you know. I never told you that he was experimenting on me.” Bucky’s voice is harsh from disuse as he holds up the book to the page he’d been reading, showing it to Steve. “Don’t ever blame yourself. I signed up for the war, same as you. You wanna blame someone, blame Hitler. Blame the Red Skull. But not  _ you _ .”

“Bucky,” Steve says, and it’s hardly more than a whisper, as if he’s afraid to say more.

“Most days that’s who I am. The longer I’m out of their custody the more my memory comes back. Whatever they were doing to my brain doesn’t seem to be permanent, which I guess is good. Except I’m remembering  _ everything _ , Stevie. Things before the war. During the war. After I fell...all my missions.” He lifts his eyes to look at Steve, and there’s pain there, pain and anger and...longing? He’s not sure. But Steve looks like he desperately wants to say or do something, probably hug him.

“Don’t come looking for me, alright? I got some stuff to do.”

“Where will you go?” Steve asks.

“Wherever I need to. Where I have to. Just...please trust me.” He looks down at the book still in his hands and grabs the pen from the table. Squinting, he concentrates and pulls the information from his brain, writes a long list of numbers before closing the book and standing. Steve scrambles to his feet.

“Please...” Steve says, and Bucky cocks his head to the side. Steve’s mouth is working, he’s breathing heavy, almost like he’s about to have another asthma attack. “Please stay.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, Stevie. I’ll be fine. Just don’t do anything stupid til I get back.”

Steve whimpers—it’s the only way Bucky can explain the sound that he made—before he responds.

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” Steve’s bottom lip is quivering, like he’s fighting back tears, and Bucky gives in to the impulse, to the  _ feelings  _ he’s still not sure how to process, and he steps forward, pulls Steve into a hug, and then Steve  _ does _ cry, he’s sobbing into Bucky’s shoulder, not letting him go.

****

He didn’t really expect there to be any news coverage. After all, they were secret bases, safe houses, things that didn’t technically exist as far as the government was concerned. And neither did he—he was a ghost, a nightmare, a legend. His work was always done in the shadows. Even when he was with the Commandos in the war, with Steve. He was a sniper. Steve got all the attention, all the glory. And Bucky was okay with that. He was glad the world finally saw Steve the way he always had.

Bucky blinked, shook his head, cleared the thought away as he stared at the television in the corner of the bar. The Avengers had been taking out the worldwide list of bases that he’d given them coordinates to—he knew Steve would figure out the message he’d left in the book. Until now, none of them had made the news, though. But this was the biggest fight, the last one, and HYDRA had been reinforcing their bases after each attack. He knew because he’d been keeping track—it was easy enough for him to hack into the system and check internal messages, and was always the last thing he did before blowing the location he was clearing.

As he sipped his beer and poked at the plate of fries in front of him, he kept his eyes glued to the tv. They were now showing file footage of other Avengers fights, interviews, and press conferences. He found himself unable to tear his gaze from Steve. When he’d left Steve’s apartment that night, he’d had zero intention of returning. But seeing him again, now, even just on the screen, he felt the familiar pull for the man that was hard to ignore.

He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face.

_ “Please, Bucky, please stay, I’ll find a way to make it safe for you, please, don’t leave me again...” _

Bucky hadn’t known at the time how to make Steve understand that he’d never be safe, not from HYDRA and not for Steve. He couldn’t think beyond eliminating the threat of recapture by HYDRA. He pulled his own list from his pocket. There was one target left, two states away. He had no idea what he’d do after that.

****

Bucky sat on the rooftop, watching the flames lick the night sky from a safe distance.

He’s saved this one for last. He could say that he didn’t know why, but that would be a lie. He’d been avoiding returning to Brooklyn. Too many things he doesn’t want to think about here. Lots of good memories, but painful ones, too. And they all center around Steve.

He climbed down the fire escape and hopped on the subway. Across from him is a woman that he’s almost sure is actually a man. Seventy years ago, they’d have been arrested. Now it’s common. Hell, there’d been a huge parade just the other day that he’d watched in amazement. He wondered if Steve saw the way things were these days and had the same thoughts, the same questions, the same what-ifs. His heart had ached at the sight of two men in military uniforms kissing openly in the middle of Times Square.

It has been nearly two years since he pulled Steve from the Potomac. Two years of a personal campaign of revenge. Of learning how the world had evolved beyond the snippets he’d needed to know for missions. Of second guesses. Of wishes and hopes.

He finds himself staring up at Avengers Tower—again. He could probably find a way in, around all the security. They’d recently returned from an assignment, and Bucky knows from his stalking of Steve that now he usually spends a few days at the tower afterwards while they heal and debrief and whatever else.

A group of people enter the building and Bucky follows behind them before he can think twice about it. They turned off towards a restaurant and he stopped in front of the elevators. He knows, logically, that he won’t be able to just literally knock on the front door, but for some reason that doesn’t stop him from getting in and hitting the button for the highest floor.

“Hello, Sargent Barnes.”

Bucky jumps, and has a knife in his hand before he realizes that there is absolutely nobody else in the elevator with him.

“I do apologize for startling you. I forgot that you have not actually been acquainted with me yet. My name is Jarvis. I am Mr. Stark’s artificial intelligence, a highly advanced multifunctional program. I monitor, coordinate, and manage all of Mr. Stark’s interests.”

“So what does that mean? Have you told him I’m here, then?”

“Negative, Sargent. I have instructions that, should you arrive, I am to assess your intent first, and then contact the appropriate persons if need be.”

The well-spoken, soft English accent coming from seemingly nowhere was freaking him the hell out.

“Shall I take you to the Avengers quarters?”

“Why would you do that? How do you know what my intent is?”

“I observed your hesitation outside, and noted that it was not the first time you have come here, only to walk away with your hand on the door. Also, today is Captain Rogers’ actual birthday, and you were his best friend.”

“I still am,” he muttered. With a sigh, he puts the knife away, noticing that the elevator hasn’t moved yet. “Is he even here?”

“He is indeed, sir. Mr. Stark has insisted on having a small celebration for Captain Rogers, despite the team’s injuries. Would you like to join them?”

“God, no, that sounds awful. The last time I saw any of them I tried to kill them. Is there any way I can just...wait somewhere? Or are you required to announce me or something?”

“I could direct you to Captain Rogers’ quarters if you’d like, sir.”

“And you’d keep quiet about that?”

“I shall monitor your movements the entire time you are on this property, sir, as I do with everyone else. If you attempt to go somewhere you should not, I will notify Mr. Stark and the rest of the team immediately.”

“Right, because that’s not creepy at all.”

“Captain Rogers has the same reservations about me. I do not monitor within his private rooms when he is in them unless he reactivates me.”

“Uh, yeah. Let’s do that then.”

A few minutes later, he is looking around Steve’s rooms in shock. Their entire apartment from the thirties would fit in the main living area alone. Yet it had the air of a hotel room, used but not lived in. Clearly, Steve didn’t feel at home here. Bucky spent much of his time pacing, counting off the steps from one side to another, mapping out the rooms in his head as a way to try to calm himself. Thankfully, he didn’t have an overly long wait for Steve to return. And the robot thing even told him when he was on the way.

Steve entered and froze when he saw Bucky.

“Jarvis?” he called out as he closed the door.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Has he done anything to suggest any malicious intent?” Steve eyed Bucky as he spoke, clearly noting the lack of armor or gear, unlike their last encounter when he’d still worn about half his knives and guns.

“No, sir. He has removed his single weapon and left it by the door to your left there.”

“Do you believe I am in any danger?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Then you may resume monitoring vital signs and structural alarms only on my rooms.”

“As you wish, sir. Have a pleasant visit.”

Bucky looked up, his eyes roaming the ceiling.

“That thing just listens to you, just like that?”

“So far.”

“It’s weird.”

“You get used to it. He’s actually pretty helpful.”

They fall into an uncomfortable silence. Finally, it’s Steve that breaks it.

“What are you doing here, Bucky? Two years. I’ve waited  _ two goddamned years _ for you, doing what you asked, not looking for you, giving you time or whatever the fuck it was you needed, with  _ no word _ from you. The only way I knew you were even still alive or in the same damned country was from all the HYDRA facilities getting blown!”

Bucky looks down at the floor and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Um, happy birthday? I...don’t have a present or anything for you. I’m sorry. This was a spur of the moment thing...” When he looks up, Steve is gaping at him. “I...had to figure some things out. Haven’t had to  _ feel  _ anything since I fell from the train.”

“And?” Steve sounds angry, so angry, but Bucky can’t fault him for that. 

“You know I’ve always loved you, right?”

“And I love you. You’re like a brother to me.”

Bucky feels himself deflating, losing what little courage he’d drummed up for this.

“Is that all it is? All it ever was? If it weren’t illegal back then...I guess I thought ‘til the end of the line’ meant something more to you, too. Forget it. I shouldn’t’ve come. I’m sorry. I’ll leave.” 

Bucky moves for the door, keeping his head down as he pushes past Steve. He can’t look at him right now. He can handle anything, any situation, but not Steve’s rejection. Steve grabs his arm, stopping him, spins him so quickly that he doesn’t have time to register what is happening before he feels the door hard against his back and Steve’s mouth on his and  _ oh God, is this really happening,  _ and this time it’s Bucky who whimpers as he wraps himself around Steve, and his head is spinning because he’s forgotten to breathe and Steve is lifting him, and Bucky won’t let go, never again, never again, because—

“I love you, I love you, I’m so sorry, please forgive me, I need you, please Stevie, I’ll never leave you again, I’m so sorry…”

—and they’re on the bed now, tearing clothes from each other, Steve’s hands are everywhere and—

“...so long,” Steve says, his teeth dragging over a nipple, making Bucky squirm. “I was afraid I’d lost you again.”

“Never again,” he promises. “Yours. Always yours.  _ Fuck, _ ” he hisses as Steve’s mouth closes around his cock. “Need you,” Bucky pants, trying to pull Steve up.

Steve settles between his legs, rubbing their shafts together. 

“Don’t have anything,” he says between kisses. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

Bucky groans, wondering if he’s got the patience for prepping with spit, wondering if he can convince Steve he can take it without prep without having to talk about things the STRIKE team did to him, because there’s no way he’s leaving this room without having Steve’s cock up his ass.

“Wait, where’s my jacket?” Bucky lunges across the room, frantically digging through the pockets. “I’ve got...for my arm...should...where the fuck...yes!” He returns to the bed, triumphant, and throws himself at Steve, knocking him back.

“I have wanted you since you were a scrawny teenager, back when we’d have been beaten and thrown in jail for it. But nobody can take you away from me now. So I swear to Christ, Steve, if you think I’m letting you out of this bed before you fuck me, you’re dead wrong.”

“Never woulda thought you’d wanna bottom,” Steve says as he slides his hands up Bucky’s sides, and the way his accent has slipped out so strongly tells Bucky just how far gone Steve is, confirms just how much he wants this too.

“I may have been bigger, but you’ve always been bossier. I’m not against switching, but I really,  _ really _ need you inside me right now.” 

“Well, when you asked so sweetly, how can I refuse?”

Bucky narrows his eyes and unscrews the cap on the little tube of vaseline that he uses where his arm and skin meet, and squeezes some out onto his fingers, prepping his own ass expertly—some day he’s sure he’ll have to explain it to Steve, but not today—before he takes Steve in hand.

“Fuck, Bucky, that was hot,” Steve gasps as he strokes him. 

Bucky just smirks and shifts his hips, guiding Steve’s cock until he’s pressed at his entrance. Steve threads his fingers through Bucky’s metal ones and their eyes lock.

“I love you,” Steve says, and Bucky can see the tears threatening and he knows if Steve starts to cry then so will he because it’s their first time,  _ finally _ , they’re finally together, and it’s been so long, so many years of wanting and of being apart, and goddamn it, he’s  _ not _ going to cry, so instead he squeezes Steve’s hand and pushes down on his cock and Steve gasps, but doesn’t look away, and Bucky catches his other hand, and Steve’s holding him hard enough to hurt, but that doesn’t matter.

“I love you,” Bucky answers, and Steve is thrusting up, meeting Bucky, and he shudders when Bucky bottoms out, taking him fully, and finally closes his eyes as his back arches and his chest heaves and it’s the most beautiful thing Bucky has ever seen. 

He rocks his hips and Steve’s grip tightens even more, and Bucky is hit with the sudden realization that, despite all his bravado, this is probably Steve’s first time.

“Stevie,” he says softly, and his eyes flutter open. “Breathe, buddy. Don’t pass out on me.” He leans forward, dropping their still-linked hands to either side of Steve’s head. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. Trust me. Just feel. Breathe and feel. Turn your brain off.” He punctuated the words with kisses along Steve’s jaw and neck. His breathing evens out, though his heart is still racing, and he falls into rhythm with Bucky. 

It doesn’t take long before Bucky feels his orgasm drawing near, and he shifts to try to hold off. Steve follows Bucky up and flips them and Bucky finds himself on his back, bent in half with his legs wrapped around Steve’s waist.

Bucky groans and scrambles for purchase.

“Fuck, Steve, yes…”

At this angle, and with him already so close, it only takes a few well-placed strokes before Bucky is coming, crying out, and he thinks he’s shouting in Russian but he can’t bring himself to care, because— 

“Bucky,” Steve gasps, as his entire body shakes, and Bucky holds him tight, keeping them locked together as Steve rides out his orgasm, and then he’s being pinned to the mattress as Steve collapses on top of him.

“Holy shit. That was—”

“Yeah.”

“I mean—”

“I know.”

“Can we—”

“Absolutely,” Bucky grins, and Steve’s got the same stupid grin on his face, and then Steve is moving again,  _ God bless that serum _ , Bucky thinks, until he can’t think any more, because fuck he forgot how quickly Steve learned new things, and he knows  _ exactly _ the right angle now after the fifth time and Bucky thinks he might die and it’s the best feeling ever…

Eventually they collapse, somewhere near dawn, they’re dozing off, still wrapped around each other in a tangle of sheets and limbs, when a thought occurs to Bucky.

“God, how the hell am I going to top this for your birthday next year?”

“You’re such a jerk,” Steve says, but he’s laughing, and they’re kissing, and it’s perfect, and Steve is perfect, and they’re finally here, and it’s more than he could have hoped for.

“I love you, punk.”

“I love you too.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on tumblr!
> 
> <https://hanitrash.tumblr.com/>
> 
> also, check out my published stuff? pretty please?
> 
> [https://www.amazon.com/Loralynne-Summers/](https://www.amazon.com/Loralynne-Summers/e/B00RC8DGGS?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1&qid=1577730376&sr=8-1)


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